The Rising Sun
by girl in the glen
Summary: Originally post in Section VII on LJ for Song Story Challenge, this finds Napoleon and Illya contemplating the consequences of their actions.


The prompt: The Sun Ain't Gonna Shine Anymore by The Walker Bros.

The night air was heavy with the fragrance of honeysuckle, the vines a tangle of thorns and blossoms beneath the two men who were crouched in anticipation of eminent danger. A full moon seemed intent on betraying their position as light splayed off of the blond hair of one of them.

"Did I ever mention that working with you is like carrying a lantern? Sometimes I wish you'd shave your head and save me the trouble of worrying about how you light up the night."

Illya Kuryakin grinned, an unusual sense of the absurdity of their situation seemed to make him slightly light hearted in spite of the danger.

"You know, of course, that it will never happen. And I don't think my blond head is any more of a beacon than your insistence on dare devil tactics. The fact that we are sitting here talking about it is due only to my ability to get you out of trouble."

Napoleon Solo considered his partner's statement, patently refusing to admit he had needed rescuing. He was merely … distracted. Yes, the young woman had been a distraction, not really a danger.

"You're just jealous. She was a lovely woman, though…"

Both men were silent as they envisioned the pretty receptionist they had encountered in the THRUSH owned business. Regardless of her looks and charm, however, she had been THRUSH and willing to betray her attraction to Napoleon in favor of her loyalty to the Hierarchy.

"It is a pity, to see someone so young and pretty willing to sacrifice herself for such a dubious cause. It was … unfortunate."

Napoleon nodded, his anticipation of the approaching dawn now fraught with regret concerning the woman's death. As they sat here, waiting for retrieval by an UNCLE team, the last moments of her life flashed in the agent's memory; he considered Illya's use of the word unfortunate.

"Is that all it was, tovarsich? Unfortunate? I think perhaps tragic suits the situation better. She was young and impressionable, with so much to live for had it not been for…"

Illya jumped in, hoping to allay the approach of a bout of conscience from his friend.

"Her loyalty to an evil organization whose aims she seemed to clearly understand. Napoleon…'

The Russian understood the remorse, the utter sense of helplessness when bodies fell in the path of redemption.

"… She knew her master well."

Napoleon nodded, his own weariness evident in the hazel eyes. Illya was right, as usual, and his own sense of right sometimes found itself in conflict with the ultimate acts necessary to achieve a proper end.

"Yes, she did know whom she served. I just wonder, sometimes…''

The sigh was deep, cutting through the early morning silence. Illya bowed his head slightly, a silent acknowledgement of the respect they each held for human life, even that of their enemies. It was impossible to assign guilt, but equally impossible to be completely free of it.

"We all wonder, Napoleon. If it's worth it, if we will ever succeed in eradicating this evil… The sun shines on the wicked as well as the righteous."

Napoleon subdued a chuckle at his friend's paraphrase of a bible verse. Illya was full of surprises, but he realized instantly how appropriate the quote was to this train of thought and conversation.

"Yes, it does indeed. We hope that it will continue to shine on us for many more years."

The two exchanged knowing looks, a silent agreement to do whatever was necessary to make certain that the sun would indeed shine on them, set at the end of every day and rise again to light their way as they fought the good fight.

The warble of a communicator broke the morning just as the first rays of sunlight were cutting through the clouds.

"Solo here… Yes, I see your headlights. We're coming out now."

Illya nodded his head in the direction of the road.

"Ready?"

The American stood up and straightened his tie and dusted off the remains of the night's untidy surroundings. Illya was less concerned about his clothing and winced at the reminder that he had a bullet in his left shoulder. Nothing new on this one: Napoleon flirted with a pretty girl, he got shot. The flirt looked now with concern at his wounded partner, grateful that they had made it through another hazardous mission.

"Ready, resolved… Let's go home."


End file.
